SONGS OF HOME 

AND OTHERS 



MARTHA S. BAKER 




Class Tt3 -? n"5 
Copyright iN^_ /f ^>/ - 

coPasiGHT DEPosrr. 



SONGS OF HOME 



SONGS OF HOME 

AND OTHERS 
MARTHA S. BAKER 




THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
BOSTON 



Copyright 1921 
By THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 






Printed in the United States of America 



JAN 27 1922 
©"IA654532 



DEDICATION 

These simple rhymes I dedicate 
To those I hold most dear, 
Not claiming art an estimate, 
But love depicted here. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Lure of Home i 

Cape Cod, The Land of the Pilgrims . . 2 

The Old Home 4 

Cape Cod 6 

Sacred to Memory 7 

Old Home Memories 9 

A Visit OF Long Ago 11 

Going Back Home 13 

The Family Picnic at the Old Homestead 14 

Grandmother's Garden 16 

The Lure of the Sea 17 

Voices from an Abandoned House . . 18 

The Island School-House 20 

A Sign of Spring 21 

Response Read at a School Social . . 22 

Pictures of the Little Red Schoolhouse 23 

New Hampshire's Invitation .... 25 

Concord ^7 

A Visit to a Dear Ancestral Mansion . 28 

Since War Came Near -30 

War Clouds 31 

His Gift to His Country 32 

"Exultant Hearts of Victory Sing" . . 33 

"Old Glory" Unfurled 34 

Victory 35 

My Country 36 

Land of Home 37 

Home 3^ 

My Birthday 39 

Luke 9:24 40 

I Am Not Old 41 

My Garden 42 

The Easter Lily 43 

A Friend 44 

My Latest Year 45 

My Love 4^ 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Father's Love 47 

Service 48 

My Aim 49 

What Ministry for Me Has God Designed 50 

The Power of Words 51 

Love in Action 52 

Love in Words . . - 53 

Compensation 54 

Gifts 55 

Two Sisters 56 

A Miracle 57 

My Enchantress 58 

God in Nature 59 

October 60 

Life's Common Gifts 61 

Companionship 62 

Frost Fairies 63 

Two Travelers to the South Land . . 64 

The Year Is Growing Old 66 

The Robin's Song of Trust dy 

The Postman 68 

Written for a Chatauqua Class Reunion 69 

Lines Written TO A Friend . . . . . 70 

A Dream 71 

I Long to Know ^2. 

Resurrection 74 

Questions 75 

A Loan 76 

Glad Tidings yy 

How Oft Would I Have Gathered Thee 78 

Memorial Day 79 



SONGS OF HOME 



THE LURE OF HOME 

The world hath its allurements gay, 
Attractive ways to roam, 
But ever in my winding way, 
I hear the call of home. 

A place than all beside more dear, 
Where peace and joys abide: 
A castle where no foe I fear, 
No enemy doth hide. 

There rest for weary heart and brain, 
A haven for the soul 
A heahng touch, a balm for pain, 
A satisfying goal. 

This earth's brief day will have an end. 
The sunset shadows fall. 
Then home with the eternal Friend, 
Where loved ones fondly call. 



CAPE COD, 
The Land of The Pilgrims. 

Here homage walks with reverent tread, 
By love's constraining footsteps led; 
Land of our fathers, hallowed land ! 
Revered their graves where shifting sand. 
Sun-bathed, wind-swept and ocean-torn. 
Points to the home of nation born. 
They who from Plymouth Rock did hew, 
A corner-stone for structure new 
Foundation laid for government. 
Unequalled and beneficent ; 
A structure for its ideals known. 
From frozen North to tropic zone. 
Conceived in righteousness it grew. 
Sustained and fed by patriots true ; 
The stones they placed in beauty there, 
The names of Faith and Conscience bear. 
The names of Freedom and of God 
The Pilgrims blazoned on Cape Cod. 
Forbidding, cold and bleak the shore. 
Where loud winds blent with ocean's roar, 
Where booming breaker's monotone, 
Was hurled in ceasless wintry moan 
There disembarked on foreign land 
This brave, heroic Pilgrim band 
No welcome home did fierce winds sound 
No sheltering fireside there they found 
But desolation savage foe, 
A prophecy of coming woe. 
But faith in God and man they held, 
With strong right arm the trees they felled, 
To form the semblance of a home, 
A shelter from the sky's grey dome. 
Death bore their loved ones from their sight ; 
With famine, pestilence to fight, 
2 



upon the slope of Burial Hill, 
The victims lay new graves to fill. 
With high resolve they turned not back ; 
Faith, clear-eyed heeded not their lack. 
Assured they were the right must win. 
Nothing they feared but craven sin. 
Such ancestors as these we boast — 
Their children have become a host, 
God let the father's mantle fall, 
With spirit like upon them all. 



THE OLD HOME 

The old home ! Magic words are these to call 
Fond memories back. How tenderly they fall 
On the responsive ear : they call to mind 
Familiar scenes, loved forms and faces kind. 
I see the old-time friends, the neighbors true, 
To be a neighbor then meant something too ; 
The village doctor, kindest friend of all, 
So large of heart and brain, in error small; 
A crown he wears for faithful service here. 
His name now canonized for many a year ; 
A poet, preacher, statesman, doctor, friend, 
His fame beyond Cape Cod did far extend. 
Another in the old- home's hall of fame. 
Our wise school-teacher, honored is his name; 
A master in the pedagogic rule. 
And favored those within his famous school. 
Here scores of other names revered arise. 
Within fond hearts their fragrant memory 

Ues. 
The old High School to bleak north winds 

exposed, 
Fine characters of real worth enclosed ; 
On nearby quiet mounds some names appear. 
Some in life's school enroll another year; 
The winds and waves have borne them far and 

wide. 
Around the old hearth stone but few abide ; 
Wherever scattered ports or harbors found. 
The children of Cape Cod her praises sound. 
And ever south winds blow and days grow long, 
There echoes in the heart the sea's old song, 
Her luring call. Come back, oh child of mine. 
Where ocean's breeze is sweet with breath of 

pine; 
Come bask beside the sunny waters blue. 
Drink in the salt sea air, and vigor new; 

4 



Hark to the music of the ceasless tide, 

The curUng, breaking waves on stretches wide 

Of shining sand where seaweed drifts are 

high, 
Where treasures of the sea half buried He ; 
Come watch the storm clouds black go scudding 

by. 

The foaming dashing surf rise mountain high ; 
Then does the heart respond, Yes, this is home; 
Here glad I come, nor seek strange paths to roam. 
And here refresh the body, soul and brain. 
Renew old ties of friendship, new ones gain ; 
The friends of youth, life's morn, our hearts 

enshrine. 
Recall with joy the days of auld lang syne. 



CAPE COD. 

A brave, God-fearing Pilgrim band, 
A far-famed, dear historic land. 

Cape Cod. 
A stretch of sand, a wave-swept shore, 
The ceasless tides, old ocean's roar, 

Cape Cod. 
Where gales of winter beat and lash. 
Where foaming heights of salt spray dash. 

Cape Cod. 
A shimmering bay where sunbeams dance. 
Whose waters summer joys enhance, 

Cape Cod. 
Where summer breezes sing and play, 
Make cool the fervent heat of day, 

Cape Cod. 
Where bayberries grow and fragrant pines, 
Deep tinted flowers and trailing vines, 

Cape Cod. 
Where health and vigor is renewed. 
The weary brain to rest is wooed. 

Cape Cod. 
Where people kind and large of heart. 
In many a state do well their part, 

Cape Cod. 
Descendants worthy of their sires, 
Still glows their light from freedom's fires, 

Cape Cod. 



SACRED TO MEMORY. 

I've journeyed far, in thought, to-day, 
Down through the length of years. 
Brought back with me sweet memories, 
Freighted with smiles and tears. 

I stood beside my childhood home. 
Entered its portals grey. 
Looked through its tiny window-panes, 
Out on the sunlit day. 

Bereft the old house stands alone. 
Bereft its neighbors, too ; 
No friendly smoke from house-tops near, 
Ascends in clouds of blue. 

I wandered through each silent room, 
Deserted now and bare. 
Revived some childish, mirthful pranks. 
In which I had a share. 

Each room spoke of some loved one dear, 
Some story of the past — 
I yield unto the magic spell. 
These memories o'er me cast. 

I see them now, the family group, 
I name them one by one ; 
Near all have gained celestial homes. 
Their work on earth well done. 

Without I see the garden where 
The sun lay soft and warm, 
The orchard with its bending trees. 
Now scarred by many a storm. 
7 



The "silver oaks," the lilacs, too. 
That bloomed beside the door ; 
The locusts tall and fragrant still, 
Stand as in days of yore ; 

The shed, the well with cooling depths. 
The barn with well fed kine, 
The horse, the dog, I see them all — 
A sweet day-dream of mine. 

Fond voices now the stillness break — 
The wind joins with the sea 
In singing tender lullabies, 
A peaceful symphony. 

The untrod paths are winding still 
O'er meadow, hill and shore ; 
The crickets pipe their requiem ; 
Above, the wild birds soar. 

The meadow fair to look upon, 
This sweet September day. 
Where lavish blooms the goldenrod, 
And asters all the way. 

Seems but a picture all aglow 
With colors from the skies ; 
The gold and purple of the west, 
Before the daylight dies. 

These memories of the past, what charm 
Their influence to me brings — 
O'er them I linger lovingly, 
To them my fond heart clings. 



OLD-HOME MEMORIES. 

Mid the city's summer heat, 
Comes a call I willing heed, 
Thoughts take wing and o'er green fields, 
Travel with refreshing speed ; 
To my childhood home I journey, 
Back through many varied years ; 
Sunbeams still on some are shining. 
Others yet are blurred with tears. 
But forgetting for the moment. 
All the past that lies between, 
I'm a child care-free, light-hearted. 
All my senses sharp and keen. 
Once again I'm in the orchard. 
Spying birds' nests in the trees, 
Wading through the fragrant clover, 
Spoil for many brigand bees. 
In the water sailing boats. 
Where the soft waves lap the shore — 
Did another child, I wonder, 
Have such merry days galore ? 
All the haunts of happy childhood, 
Rise before me as I muse, 
Days just brimming o'er with gladness, 
Lengthened till the early dews. 
Shadows deepen in the valley. 
Crickets pipe of waning day, 
Birds are calling to each other. 
Ready for their evening lay. 
Odors rise with gathering mists, 
Sweet with alder, brake and fern ; 
Filled is childhood's cup of joy, 
Truant steps toward home I turn. 
Home means shelter, care and love: 
Tired I, climb the bed-time stair. 
Glad to rest I seek my pillow, 
Having said the wonted prayer. 
9 



Bending o'er me still I see her, 
One whose name my lips first spoke ; 
O, what precious thoughts and tender, 
These loved scenes once more evoke. 
Back again in city walls, 
Stronger now to meet the day ; 
Magic is the power of thought, 
Potent yet is memory's sway. 
Busy days are filled with labor, 
Cares and problems multiply; 
Childhood like a pleasant dream, 
Lingers life to fortify. 
Lingers like some fragrance rare. 
Some old-time but sweet refrain, 
Calling back to simple joys, 
Restful both to heart and brain. 
May my faith in thee, O God, 
Ever simple, childlike be. 
And when life's full day is ended. 
Let me rest at home with Thee. 



10 



A VISIT OF LONG AGO. 

Like dreams or shadow-pictures seem those days, 
Obscured by years, seen dimly through a haze. 
Yet quite distinct appear those figures four, 
The covered wagon waiting at the door ; 
The friendly mare who trots a quiet pace. 
The baggage for the journey in its place. 
Though I alone of all the four am left. 
Of father, mother, sister all bereft. 
Yet still I take delight in thinking o'er 
Those merry, childlike, care-free days of yore. 
We pass along the dear, familiar road. 
The mare anon receives a gentle goad ; 
We stop at frequent intervals to greet 
Our friends on either side the quiet street ; 
We hail the homes of scattered relatives, 
Where each content in peaceful plenty lives. 
Then hasten on past houses neat and trim, 
Along whose graveled walks are flower-beds 

prim. 
A stillness broods, in soft, warm air, a calm. 
For weary heart or brain a healing balm. 
In sight at last the old familiar gate. 
Where grandpa and the rest expectant wait. 
The western sky glows red with setting sun, 
At sight of stall the mare breaks in a run. 
Goes mildly dashing through the open gate. 
Foretasting oats she deems a trifle late. 
We pass the duck-pond where a quacking brood 
Oft sails with grace o'er waters brightly hued 
With heaven's own blue. The lily-cups are closed. 
Where late the blinking frogs had idly dozed. 
From Grandma's garden bed come odors sweet, 
Dew laden, perfume bearing zephyrs fleet. 
And from the orchard with its early fruit, 
Comes fragrance wafted to the sense acute. 
The buildings on the farm all neatly stand, 
11 



The house for ducks my special wonder-land, 

For order an unwritten law obeyed, 

Does all the place within, without pervade. 

The parlor with its formal, tranquil air. 

The Franklin Stove whose warmth but few might 

share. 
The ell with shining stove, the meal room, too, 
Its dusty flavor clinging still, I view ; 
A breath of sweet herbs dried the spare room 

fills, 
The bed piled high with down, the spotless frills, 
Betoken restful sleep ; the old tall clock. 
Which Grandpa weekly in his Sunday frock 
Made sure to wind ; the huge hearth-fire ablaze ; 
The oven brick on whose hot depths I gaze. 
Filled full of luscious things to eat, delight 
Supreme, an Indian pudding, viand quite 
Sufficient for an epicure, with cream 
Poured on, a rich and lavish yellow stream 
From Grandma's row of shining pans displayed. 
All, all I see. The simple joys, home-made 
Of these far distant days still hold a charm. 
As sweet as evening bell or morning psalm. 
I muse in restful retrospect content. 
On days at my paternal grandsire's spent. 



12 



GOING BACK HOME. 

'Tis the very same road over which we go, 
With the same old engine and all I know ; 
The car is crowded with folks — but yet 
They seem to me a quite new set. 

The folks have changed. ' 

These folks at the station, — who are these ? 
Are they playing a joke on me just to tease? 
They are strangers to me, — not one I know. 
Where in the world did these folks grow ? 

The folks have changed. 
The old fashioned wagon — I can't find that — 
There's an automobile wherein I never sat — 
The old driver, too, my neighbor and friend — 
How queer this new young chap they should 

send! 
But, thank the Lord, the skies don't change, 
Nor fields nor flowers nor hillside range. 
They are just as sweet and old-fashioned as 

ever, 
And I pray in my heart they'll look strange to 

me never. 

But folks have changed. 
Our life on earth is but for a day. 
And some sweet time we'll go home to stay. 
And there the dear home friends we'll find. 
For they lived for God and human-kind. 

There folks don't change. 



13 



THE FAMILY PICNIC AT THE OLD 
HOMESTEAD. 

Again the strong, south wind blows through the 

open door, 
The sun with light and cheer the old-home floods 

once more ; 
Again the walls resound with merry voices glad. 
All thoughts and words concealed that might the 

hour make sad, 
Both old and young unite to make the day seem 

fair. 
To hang on memory's walls another picture rare. 
The friendly group met here, by ties of blood are 

bound, 
Or else affection's cords tightly two hearts hath 

wound. 
With recollections sweet the festive board we 

grace. 
While faith sees hovering near full many a 

sainted face; 
We talk of those who lived long since within 

these walls. 
Each dear, familiar room some treasured scene 

recalls. 
Here tragedies and comedies alike were wrought. 
To meet them, courage, faith and fortitude were 

brought. — 
We take the same old path that leads on to the 

shore. 
The sea still yields her fruits just as in days of 

yore; 
We bask upon the sand and look out o'er the 

bay. 
And think how like a dream our walk on life's 

highway ; 
The scenes are swift to change^ new actors oft 

we see — 

14 



Here in our happy group are generations three. 

The dear, familiar friends of whom we think to- 
day, 

Took well their role and gave success in life's 
great play; 

May we, more favored, with less hardship in our 
role, 

As fair a record make when written on life's 
scroll. 



15 



GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN. 

Full many a tropic island casts 
Its wind-swept fragrance on the sea, 
But sweeter far the breeze that wafts 
Grandmother's garden back to me. 

There mignonette and hollyhocks, 
Sweet peas all fresh with morning dew, 
There sage and columbine and phlox, 
The tiger-lily, feverfew ; 

Sweet herbs and mint and Southern-wood, 
Larkspur, heart's ease and iris blue, 
In artless rows all primly stood, 
And in their homely beauty grew. 

The old must ever pass away. 

And often better is the new. 

But nothing sweeter grows to-day. 

Nor could more fragrant memories woo. 



16 



THE LURE OF THE SEA. 

The sea, the sea is home to me, its luring call I 

hear, 
The music of its lapping waves in dreams falls on 

my ear. 
I see its sunny waters gleam and ripple in the 

breeze ; 
I long to bask upon its shore and idly take my 

ease; 
To bare my head to the strong south wind, to 

watch the white-capped waves, 
To feel the salt mist on my face — 'tis this the 

blood in me craves. 
Should skies be grey and angry winds excite the 

foaming sea, 
Content I watch the rising storm, protected in the 

lee; 
I watch the little boats come in, borne by the 

wind and tide, 
With flying sails like white winged birds : I 

long once more to bide 
Beside the sea I love so well, there where my 

early years 
Were passed. I loved it then, a child now 

memory reveres. 
And never soft land breezes play and sing about 

my door. 
But there's a longing in my heart for the sea- 
girt home once more. 



17 



VOICES FROM AN OLD ABANDONED 
HOUSE. 

I pass an old grey house upon my way, 
Then turn, retrace my steps a while to stay, 
To dream, to ponder, let my fancy play. 

It stands bereft, abandoned, quite alone, 
A voice from out the past in minor tone ; 
A worn and faded picture dimly shown. 

The faded lilac blooms about the door, 

A gracious welcome bring from days of yore, 

A call the tangled paths to wander o'er. 

A startled bird its nesting place reveals, 
A gnarled old apple tree that half conceals ; 
A distant, tinkling cow-bell faintly peals. 

The murmur of a tiny, cooling stream. 

Whose trickling waters through the tall grass 

gleam, 
Adds tuneful voice to mingle in my dream. 

Beside a crumbling wall of stones, a rose, 

Its wasteful fragrance on the still air throws ; 

A cat-bird's song in sweet abandon grows. 

The vagrant breezes play among the trees ; 

I hear the drowsy, droning of the bees. 

So restful nature's music, real heart's ease! 

I muse of all the music of a home. 
The dearest place beneath the sky's blue dome, 
A hallowed spot wherever one may roam. 
18 



I fancy children's laughter glad and gay, 
Its cheery echo from some bygone day ; 
Young men and maids who trill a merry lay. 

I dream of matrons sweet, serene, demure. 
Of pleasant kindly voice in love secure ; 
Of sun-browned, stalwart men whose hearts 
are pure. 

I think of gala days, of marriage bells ; 
Of sorrow, tears, the sadness of farewells, 
And this the silence of the old house tells. 

Not now a time-worn, battered frame it stands. 
But wistful, yearningly, with outstretched hands, 
A home once loved, revered it large expands. 



19 



THE ISLAND SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Though few remain who once met here, 

And scattered are afar and near, 

Yet glad they hold in memory still. 

The Island School-house on the hill. 

Though long since gone, yet still it lives, 

And to the world its blessing gives, 

In lives of men and women true, 

Who once its friendly entrance knew. 

This sacred spot is hallowed ground. 

Though not in halls of fame renowned ; 

A little shrine the years have made, 

Where recollections fond are laid. 

Here faith in God the fathers sought 

To add to all the knowledge taught : 

By day a teacher kindly showed 

The way to learning's rugged road. 

At night the father's prayers were heard^ 

Till heads were bent and hearts were stirred. 

Fathers and children, too, have died, 

A few still wait the last ebb tide. 

And gladly would they mark the spot 

That it might never be forgot; 

That future generations see 

Their heart's deep love and loyalty 

To God and home and sturdy worth 

The land where freedom had its birth ; 

And that their children might behold 

Their reverence for virtues old. 

Then here above the surging tide 

Should love's memorial abide. 



20 



A SIGN OF SPRING. 

O it's good to be alive when the earth grows 

warm and green, 
When the south wind softly blows after winter's 

blasts so keen, 
When the birds with song return, and at twilight 

in the bogs. 
If we listen we may hear the piping of the frogs; 
When the swelling buds are bursting, when tasks 

within but clog. 
In the gloaming, weirdly sweet, sounds the music 

of the frog. 
To my ear a vesper song; it recalls to mind the 

past. 
Takes me back to childhood days, glad memories 

that last. 
'Tis a harbinger of joy and it puts me all agog, 
For I know that spring is near when I hear the 

welcome frog. 
'Tis a prophecy of gladness, of fields and woods 

and hills 
With new life again restored; and my inmost 

spirit thrills 
When in April's waning sunlight from sodden, 

swampy log, 
Comes the message strangely dear of the homely 

little frog. 



21 



RESPONSE READ AT A SCHOOL SOCIAL 

A part of High are we, 

In Massachusetts by the sea ; 

We represent, my spouse and I, 

School days for many years gone by. 

We have no yell, no pennant bright, 

Right proudly to display to-night, 

Only dim memories we bring, 

That to those early days still cling ; 

We smile as shadow-pictures rise. 

Of youthful follies, masters wise ; 

Recall some quiet, studious one, 

Some mischief lover bent on fun : 

But dream-like they dissolve and change, 

Grow hopeless, mixed as wide they range. 

Within those far off classic walls. 

Were heard to distant lands loud calls ; 

The Cape Cod winds blew strong and free, 

Her ships went sailing out to sea. 

They bore full many a lass and lad. 

Ambitious, hopeful, earnest, glad ; 

In scattered ports new homes they made, 

Safe harbors found, their anchors stayed. 

Look North or South or East or West, 

Their names are found among the best. ■ 

But two were drifted inland high. 

Where granite hillsides seek the sky ; 

To none more peaceful fate befell. 

Than those who in fair dwell ; 

No wish have they to turn them back. 
They love her hills, her Merrimack : 
For many years and more their home, 
And till serener heights they roam. 



PICTURES OF THE LITTLE RED 
SCHOOLHOUSE. 

It stood beside the village street, 
A guide-post marking out the way, 
Invitingly where two roads meet, 
An unprized blessing in its day. 

Reluctant, trembling feet were those, 
That early traced their untried way, 
Where youth in eager, restless rows, 
Sat waiting for the hour of play. 

A teacher with a gentle code, 
To lure the young and plastic mind 
In learning's steep and rugged road. 
Sought patiently a way to find. 

A desk with ruler, fearsome thing, 
That only culprits brought to view, 
A bell that would too early ring, 
The flowers that by the wayside grew. 

The back row seats, envy of all. 
Where plotted mischief reckless grew. 
Where seniors sat against the wall. 
And sly, admiring glances drew. 

The stove round which to dry the slate. 
The children took their favored turn, 
While backs were in a frigid state. 
And faces ready quite to burn. 

A privilege how coveted, 
To pass the dipper's cooling drink. 
To pass it round with lagging tread. 
And many a roguish prank and wink. 
23 



An onward march from crude ways then, 

To steam warmed buildings, high grade schools, 

But finer women, stronger men. 

Are they produced with modem tools ? 



24 



NEW HAMPSHIRE'S INVITATION. 

Would you spend the summer days, 
Where the cooling breezes blow, 
'Neath the shadow of the hills, 
Whence the sparkling waters flow? 
Come to New Hampshire. 

Would you view the mountain heights. 
When the evening shadows fall. 
When like sentinels they stand. 
Silent, steadfast, grand and tall? 
Come to New Hampshire. 

When the early morning sky. 
Gilds them with a sun-kissed light. 
When a veil of silver mist. 
Half conceals them from the sight? 
Come to New Hampshire. 

Would you stand within the aisles 
Of some deep cathedral wood. 
Where the solitude but lures 
Thoughts toward God and all that's good ? 
Come to New Hampshire. 

Would you seek the rocky shore, 
Hear the rhythm of the sea, 
Restless tides that never still. 
Sing their tireless litany? 

Come to New Hampshire. 

Here are rivers peaceful, still, 
Mirrors for the earth and sky. 
Placid lakes, rare gems, with which 
E'en earth's choicest ones may vie. 
Come to New Hampshire. 
25 



Here are meadows fertile, green, 
Graceful elm and stately oak. 
Blossoms of the fairest hue. 
Woodland creatures, feathered folk. 
Come to New Hampshire. 

Here's a welcome warm and true 
For the old friend and the new ; 
Stranger, come within our gates, 
Here for you a welcome waits. 
Come to New Hampshire. 



CONCORD. 

In a vale of peace and beauty, where the laugh- 
ing waters glide, 
Lies our city, fair and winsome, filling loyal 

hearts with pride. 
In the hills above, around her charms of grace 

and strength behold! 
Chiselled loveliness in granite, workmanship of 

Master bold ! 
Home of favored sons and daughters! home to 

which they gladly turn 
If afar their feet have wandered, where love's 

altar-fires still burn. 
God in wisdom guided hither, led our fathers 

here to dwell; 
They prepared the way before us : may we serve 

our race as well. 
Their foundation, stern and rock-bound, 

wrought in sacrifice and toil ; 
We, their children build in concord peaceful 

homes on freedom's soil. 
May our banner, ever waving, bear the legend 

peace not strife : 
Love, not hate, must be triumphant ; God is love 

and God is life. 



27 



A VISIT TO A DEAR ANCESTRAL 
MANSION. 

I journey forth one autumn day; 
When asters are in bloom : 
A wealth of golden sunshine fair, 
The earth and sky illume. 

I'm seeking in maturer years, 
A dear ancestral home, 
And once again, a little child. 
Its hills and vales to roam. 

I see the forms of loved ones near, 
I hear their voices still, 
Though some have lain for many years 
On yonder quite hill. 

With them I wander through the house ; 
Each room its story tells, 
While long and lovingly o'er all 
The memory fondly dwells. 

'Twas long ago a little lass, 

I came to visit here, 

Bound close by kinship's loving ties 

To those I held so dear. 

A wonder-land it seemed to her. 
This child who early grew, 
Beside the ocean, grand and grave, 
A vast plateau of blue. 

While here the mountains clothed in green, 
Seemed climbing to the sky, 
And smiling vistas rare here met 
Her unaccustomed eye. 

28 



A story-book it seemed to her; 
She read it through and through, 
And many times in after years, 
Reread it in review. 

And always with a longing deep, 
To visit just once more, 
The dear ancestral mansion-house, 
So loved in days of yore. 



29 



SINCE WAR CAME NEAR. 

There's something lacking in the spring, 
The birds not quite so blithely sing, 
The robin has a minor tone, 
As if his mate afar had flown; 
Each dew-drop of the fragrant morn. 
Glistens, a tear, from eyes forlorn ; 
The blossoms from the earth's green bed 
Seem blooming for our soldier-dead; 
They seem to wear a darker hue. 
Are eyes and ears alike untrue? 
The tender green through morning's mist. 
The blushing apple trees sun-kist. 
Sunbeams that on the greensward dance, 
But wing my thoughts to fields of France, 
Where men are lying drenched in blood, 
A deepening, sacrificial flood. 
How can the heart keep tune with spring? 
War's discords in the ear loud ring, 
While broken hearts rain silent tears, 
And days are filled with haunting fears. 
O, spring has lost its sweetest joys, 
Since war came near to claim our boys. 
Though proud we bid them go and smile. 
For us the spring-time halts a while. 



30 



WAR CLOUDS. 

A weight I carry, filled with dread, 
The skies are black and storm clouds near, 
I hear the moaning for the dead, 
I see the anguished mother's tear. 

My heart aches with a nameless fear, 
I hear the muffled thunder's crash, 
I see youth's mangled forms press near. 
Toll of the battle's awful clash. 

O God of love, bend low thine ear, 
In mercy hear the mother's plea — 
Above the storm a still voice hear, 
"O heavy laden come to me." 

Whom should we seek, O God, but thee, 
Our everlasting, changeless Friend? 
From trembling earth's fierce fires we flee 
To thee, our peace, while storms descend. 



31 



HIS GIFT TO HIS COUNTRY. 

His life in morning's freshness fair, 
Gave promise of a glad, full day; 
His country called and swift to dare, 
He to her altar led the way. 

War's awful battlefields he trod, 

A player in the tragic game ; 

His form beneath France's blood-drenched sod, 

His name enrolled in deathless fame. 

Life, dear to him, a blissful dream, 

Unflinchingly he cast aside. 

He made the sacrifice supreme, 

For liberty and justice died. ' 

How paltry seems the loan of gold. 
When measured by like sacrifice : 
Shall we our meager bit withold, 
While others pay such costly price? 



32 



"EXULTANT HEARTS OF VICTORY 
SING'^ 

With chastened hearts, eyes veiling tears, 
Weighed down with many boding fears. 
Within God's sacred courts we knelt, 
And close His holy Presence felt. 
He knew our need, our nation's stress, 
Her peril we would scarce confess ; 
He knew and we were comforted ; 
"Fear not, be strong, be strong," He said. 
A strange new hope we felt that hour. 
In direst need we claimed God's power. 

Back to the task with faith renewed. 
With courage born of God imbued. 
The nation answered, "Win we must ; 
Our cause is just, in God we trust ; 
No treasure choice will we withold, 
Our noblest service nor our gold ; 
We'll halt not, spare no sacrifice, 
To win we'll pay whate'er the price." 

The tide was turned ; each onward wave 
Bore on its crest hope for our brave; 
That which we dared not dream nor ask, 
God granted an accomplished task. 
And now, yes, now do joy-bells ring, 
Exultant hearts of victory sing, 
While grateful paeans to God are yet 
Upon our lips, lest we forget ! 



33 



"OLD GLORY'' UNFURLED. 

From ocean to ocean our flag is unfurled, 
Let it float out its message to all the wide world. 
Tis a message of freedom, humanity, God, 
From the land which the Pilgrims for liberty 

trod; 
Love of justice and right its foundation's chief 

stone. 
Let its emblem float high by heaven's pure 

breezes blown; 
Let it float till no traitor dare lift his base head. 
Nor an alien plot crime, when his honor is dead ; 
Let its radiant folds wrought in red, white and 

blue, 
Speak of purity, courage and loyalty true ; 
Let the Stars and Stripes float from mountain 

and plain. 
From the North to the Southland, a flag without 

stain. 



34 



VICTORY. 

I hear the steady march, the tramp of coming 

feet, 
Of our victorious army that never knew defeat, 

I see the lofty purpose in eager, flashing eye, 
I see heroic action from motives born on high ; 

I hear, I hear them coming, I see each stalwart 

son, 
Erect, triumphant, proud for righteous battles 

won; 

An army of the free, a brotherhood of man. 
The Prince of Peace their guide, the herald of 
the van. 

They bring their trophies with them, the prize 

for which they fought ; 
Not selfish gain nor conquest was that they 

meanly sought. 

It was justice, it was freedom, democracy made 

pure. 
The golden rule of Christ that ever shall endure. 

Make ready for their coming, make straight each 

crooked way, 
Prepare the laurel wreath for each victor in the 

fray. 

All honor to the nation, all honor to her brave, 
Who hazard life in service humanity to save. 



35 



> 



MY COUNTRY. 

There's a land to my heart ever dear, 

Sound her name but to ring out a cheer, 

'Tis the land of the free and the brave, 

Where the Stars and the Stripes proudly wave. 

On her altars of freedom and right, 
Are the fires of devotion kept bright ; 
In her temples the incense of praise 
To the God of our fathers we raise. 

Loyal guard we her gates, they are wide. 
Guard our home for which patriots died ; 
We, their children, will cherish, defend. 
For her sake even life will we spend. 

May no traitor's base act e'er betray 
Nor an alien dishonor, we pray, 
This fair land we so fondly call home, 
This the dearest 'neath heaven's high dome. 

We're allied with all nations who fight 
For a world free from tyranny's might, 
Where the strong help the weak loads to bear, 
Each his good with his brother doth share. 

Sons and daughters shall kneel at her shrine, 
And the Stars in "Old Glory" still shine, 
Like a torch to illume and to guide, 
Till democracy's road is world-wide. 



36 



LAND OF HOME. 

America, all hail to thee! Land of home! dear 

land of home ! 
Again we pledge thee loyalty, Land of home! 

dear land of home! 
Allegiance pledge to serve, obey, 
For thee we work, for thee we pray. 
For thee we work, for thee we pray, Land of 

home! dear land of home! 

A land where justice rightly reigns, Land of 

home! dear land of home! 
Where war is never waged for gains. Land of 

home! dear land of home! ! 
But for the rights of human life, 
Thou valiant art in holy strife. 
Thou vaHant art in holy strife. Land of home! 

dear land of home ! 

Our heart's devotion it is thine. Land of home! 

dear land of home! 
Thy love of freedom is divine. Land of home! 

dear land of home ! 
For thee we gladly pay the price, 
Though costly be the sacrifice. 
Though costly be the sacrifice. Land of home! 

dear land of home! 

One God, the Father of us all, Land of home! 

dear land of home! 
We hear His voice, our country's call. Land of 

home ! dear land of home ! 
All nations free, one brotherhood, 
A peaceful, world-wide neighborhood, 
A peaceful world-wide neighborhood, Land of 
home ! dear land of home ! 
37 



HOME. 

Where the door is never barred, 
To the coming of my feet ; 
Where love asks no entrance card, 
Waits my glad return to greet. 

Where most tender tones are spoken; 
Where a light shines in the eye 
Of the heart's deep love a token ; 
Where is heard the faintest sigh. 

Where are kindest judgments given, 
Where Tm taken at my best, 
Where my faults are quick forgiven ; 
Home, the place of earthly rest ! 

Heaven is but a name for home, 
Earth is but the outer door ; 
Pilgrims all, through time we roam, 
Home and bliss then evermore. 



38 



MY BIRTHDAY. 
(October) 

My latest year lies dead beneath the fallen 

leaves, 
Its record closed : it holds, I ween, few garnered 

sheaves. 
My solace is the "little loaves ;" perchance I'll 

find 
In years to come, in this or other world, a kind 
Creator's Master hand has bound my scattered 

straw 
Into some whole of fair design by heaven's law. 
Some bulging sheaf I scarce would recognize or 

know. 
The Master's touch had multipHed and blessed 

it so. 
So I, encouraged, glean from fields where e'er I 

may. 
And trust "well done" some day to hear the 

Master say. 



39 



LUKE 9:24 

Whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the 
same shall save it. 

God gave me life, a valued gift, my thanks 
To Him are due ; a space to serve, to lift. 
To struggle up, to check the downward drift; 
No coward but a soldier in the ranks : 
So would I stand before my King erect 
And unabashed nor feel within my soul 
His condemnation. Ministry the goal 
To all in need, no race exempt nor sect. 

The pattern, Jesus, Son of God, who gave 
Himself and giving taught to us the way. 
Who spendeth Hfe for His dear sake lives on — 
Blest paradox He taught the world to save. 
The martyr-band this holy law obey. 
They climb the rugged heights where He has 
gone. 



40 



I AM NOT OLD. 

The white frost lies upon my head, 
And threescore years of hfe are fled, 
Yet I'm not old. 

The lens is blurred through which I look, 
I need more light to read my book. 
Yet I'm not old. 

My feet run not on rounds of speed, 
I seek home paths where still ways lead. 
Yet I'm not old. 

My hands are slow tasks to complete, 
And o'er and o'er again repeat, 
Yet I'm not old. 

My ears catch not faint sounds nor calls, 
Their message still unheeded falls. 
Yet I'm not old. 

For I can love and think and work ; 
Why should my years cause me to shirk. 
Since I'm not old. 

Some useful toil? Though small my niche, 
God's smile upon it makes me rich. 
And I'm not old. 

Earth's fettered service laid aside, 
Then in a larger field and wide, 
I'll not be old. 

Earth's limitations all removed. 
My youth, eternal youth, is proved 
Where none are old. 
41 



MY GARDEN. 

So silent, drear my garden lay, all signs 
Of life extinct. Its beauty faded, gone; 
No warm, life-giving sun upon it shone, 
Nor nectar seeking lovers sought its vines. 
The chill, frost-laden air brought no perfume. 
Nor fragrance from its erstw^hile sweetest 

breath. 
It lay deformed and blackened, stamped with 

death, 
That which had been my joy, a wealth of 

bloom. 

The seasons rolled — I gazed in mute delight. 
Behold my garden new, transformed with Hfe, 
Aglow with throbbing music of the dawn ! 
Its dew-bathed blossoms gems of lustre bright. 
So good must ever win, peace follow strife ; 
Life spring from death, from night the fulgent 
morn. 



42 



THE EASTER LILY. 

A pure white chalice with a heart of gold — 
From earth it grew, God's handiwork divine. 
The dark, brown soil, of beauty gave no sign, 
Nor hint of fragrance rare was in the mold. 
Its heart, the waxen petals now enfold, 
Its grace revealed in every perfect line. 
Sweet prophecy ; yet earth did still confine. 
At God's command its bands released their hold. 

Life giving sap was in its roots to drive 
It upward; free, transfigured now in light. 
With impulse satisfied, no need to strive, 
It glorifies its Maker, faultless, white. 
Shall God, of heaven's bloom, his child deprive, 
Who struggles upward through this earthly 
night ? 



43 



A FRIEND. 

Her love, unselfish, seeking not her own, 
Concealing trace of sacrifice from sight. 
That others' pleasure may receive no blight. 
In myriad v^ays of service glad is shown: 
In simple, homely ways her kind thoughts sown. 
In deeds oft overlooked because so slight. 
Loyal, she faileth not whate'er the plight, 
Endures the test perchance to stand alone. 
Her eyes are honest, clear without deceit; 
True praise, well earned, not flattery she gives, 
And e'en rebuke, if proof of love requires; 
Her heart with faith and noble trust replete. 
Kindness the atmosphere in which she lives : 
Her virtue to a worthy life inspires. 



44 



MY LATEST YEAR. 
(Late October). 

Dead leaves are whirling in the wind, 
The trees erstwhile so gay, 

Are lifting dull bare branches high. 
Toward leaden skies of gray. 

The melody of birds has ceased, 
Frost smitten are the flowers, 

The early twilight falls apace, 
Increasing sunless hours. 

My latest year has vanished, too, 
Lies buried 'neath the leaves; 

Yet mourn I not departed days ; 

(Hope sings but never grieves). 

For I shall find my year again. 

In God's eternity, 
Its beauty and its melody, 

A feast perpetually. 



45 



MY LOVE. 

Though weary miles should intervene, 

My joyful feet would go, 
To find in thee my rest, dear one, 

My heart with love aglow. 

Thou art the spring with all its joys, 
The fragrance of the flowers; 

The bright tints of the rainbow-arch 

When seen through summer showers ; 

The beauty of the landscape fair. 

The petals of the rose; 
The music of the tuneful wind 

When through the pines its blows ; 

The lily in its whitest hue, 

A chalice holy, pure. 
An influence toward heaven thou art 

My willing soul to lure. 



46 



THE FATHER'S LOVE. 

A revelation of His love for me, 

Hath filled my soul with joy; glad tears my eyes 

O'erflow; my grateful heart exultant cries, 

And sings aloud its blissful ecstasy. 

O matchless love, of limitless degree. 

His feeblest child such love God ne'er denies, 

Its strength and tenderness a glad surprise; 

My hope, my joy it is, must ever be; 

It is the sunlight of a perfect day, 

The bright glow of a sad and starless night, 

The fragrance and the melody of spring. 

The guiding wisdom of my onward way. 

The cheering Presence of each morning's Hght, 

O for a tongue sublime His praise to sing. 



47 



SERVICE. 

For every human life God has a plan, 
A purpose, work none other may well do, 
In niche obscure or in the public view ; 
So let me work as though He were to scan, 
To ask each day, "Is this the best you can 
Of service give?" Then would I answer true, 
Without regret, *'The very best I knew." 
Be love, not fear, the motive flame I fan. 
Content if life a blessing may be made 
To other lives — this be my constant aim. 
Not slothful, useless would I willing be, 
God's plan for me accept ; As Christ obeyed 
The Father's will and glorified His name. 
His childlike, humble learner I would be. 



48 



MY AIM. 

To work, yes work and cheerful be, 
Do well the task assigned to me 
Right faithfully as best I can, 
For praise of God and weal of man ; 
Oft take a bit of wholesome play, 
That I may better work each day. 
And always would I seek to find 
Some ways to serve, be helpful, kind, 
For love of Him who toiled for me, 
Taught me a minister to be. 
This simple rule would I obey 
From glowing morn till evening grey. 
Then healthful, restful, I would sleep. 
With God to watch my slumber deep. 



49 



WHAT MINISTRY FOR ME HAS GOD 
DESIGNED. 

What service can I render to mankind ? 
What good have I that I may freely share ? 
Life's wayside paths, how can I make more 

fair? 
Its wounded hearts how can I help to bind? 
What ministry for me has God designed ? 
My neighbor's burden would He have me bear, 
Or plead enough my own dull weight of care? 
Bread cast upon the waters thou shalt find ; 
As measure meted shall thy measure be ; 
No cup of service its reward shall lose. 
Doth not the sower reap what he has sown ? 
This is God's law, a wise and just decree. 
The seeds of love on neighbor grounds we use, 
Will bloom, a garden fair within our own. 



50 



THE POWER OF WORDS. 

How potent are the words we say 

To make or mar a pleasant day ; 

Like heart's ease soothingly they fall, 

Or like the wormwood and the gall ; 

They filter sunlight through the day, 

Or gloomily drive cheer away; 

Contentment follows in their wake, 

Or fleeing, grumbling wings doth take ; 

Discouragement, alas, they bring. 

Or, hope renewed, cause hearts to sing. 

Lord, set a watch before my lips. 

Then every word with kindness drips ; 

Then thoughtful love will prompt each word, 

And blissful harmonies be heard. 



51 



LOVE IN ACTION. 

yes, your love for me I know, 
Although you do not tell me so 

In fervent words that lovers know ; 
Words dipped in flame with fire aglow. 

1 read it in your eyes that shine 
From honest depths straight into mine. 
Unflinching, true, steadfast and pure- 
Such speak of love that will endure. 

I read it in your constant care, 
That seeks my burdens all to share ; 
In patient toil from want to shield. 
Of service glad a daily yield. 
Though no caressing speech is heard. 
Such love is told without a word. 



52 



LOVE IN WORDS. 

O yes, I know you love me, dear, 

But I wish you'd tell me so ; 

'Twould set my heart a-bounding, dear, 

And put me in a glow. 

'Twould act just like a tonic, dear. 

Just brace me up, you know ; 

O yes, I know you love me, dear, 

But I wish you'd tell me so. 

'Twould help me to forget the toil, 

The disappointments, too, 

Forget the Httle frets that spoil 

My peace and make me blue. 

'Twould lift my thoughts to joys supreme. 

Above this daily care, 

And make my little trials seem 

So easy-like to bear. 

Don't think I am complaining, dear, 

no, I'm not, O no, 

1 know you love me truly, dear, 
But I wish you'd tell me so. 



63 



COMPENSATION. 

The woods and fields alike are stripped, 
Wind tossed their glories, brown and sere; 
Yet sunset skies with glory tipped. 
Make heavenly battlements seem near. 

Bereft of splendor, yet the trees, 
Show grace in every swaying limb, 
Their bare arms stretching o*er the leas. 
Seem clad in dainty, lace-like film. 

Though silent are the song-bird's notes. 
The ear may learn to cherish more 
The cheery calls the still air floats. 
Bird neighbors still are near our door. 

Departed joys the heart make sad — 
Hope springs within the spirit new; 
Some compensation makes one glad, 
Yet other blessings sure are due. 

Why grieve for transitory joys, 
While others rise to take their place ; 
Some day will change these earthly toys. 
To lasting bliss through Grod's good grace. 



64 



GIFTS. 

No artist's touch have I to paint 

Angelic forms nor face of saint, 

I can not sing with heavenly voice, 

A song to make the earth rejoice, 

I cannot write with poet's pen, 

To stir and lift the hearts of men ; 

But I can smile and hide my tears. 

And speak the word that comforts, cheers ; 

And I may paint in colors fair, 

On human hearts some memories rare. 

That glow with warmth, refine, make pure. 

When earthly treasures fail, endure. 

And I may help sad ones to sing. 

Till in their hearts the joy-bells ring; 

The page of each new day is white, 

Whereon a record I may write 

Of loving service freely given. 

To bring to earth a bit of heaven; 

So let me paint and sing and write. 

Wherever human needs invite. 



55 



TWO SISTERS . 

O sweet is the charm of the spring-time, 
And sweet is the charm of May ; 
With her I could live, yea, forever, 
Content a captive to stay. 

Her smile is the smile of the sunshine. 
Her voice is the song of birds, 
Her dress is a garland of blossoms. 
With which her light form she girds. 

She lures me away to the woodland 
Where violets hide in the grass, 
Where columbine nods to the breezes — 

May is a winsom lass ! 

x\nd June, her sweet sister, I love her ; 
A bit warmer hearted is she ; 
She beckons and from the green hillside 
A vision of beauty I see. 

Spread out is an emerald carpet, 
All flecked with the shadow of leaves, . 
Where hues of the rainbow commingle — 
A net of enchantment June weaves. 

She shows me the blue, distant mountains, 

1 hear the sweet voice of the thrush, 
The music of clear, falling waters, 
From moss covered crevice that gush. 

O sweet are the maids of the spring-time, 
And sweet are the graces they know ; 
Their lovers are many and ardent. 
On each their smiles they bestow. 
56 



A MIRACLE. 

I had but yesterday a sombre view 

Of brown hills, leafless trees and forests grey. 

This morn, my casement flung to greet the day, 

Behold a miracle, a world made new ! 

Its lovliness my rapt attention drew. 

The fields were clothed in green, the trees were 

gay 
With blossoms pink ; o'er all the landscape lay 
A tender mist, above a heavenly blue. 
Entranced and mute I gazed enwrapt in thought : 
What wondrous power such magic change had 

wrought, 
This miracle so great of life from death? 
Where could an answer just and true be sought? 
Apart from God no answer hath been taught. 
His work — let all things praise Him that have 

breath. 



57 



MY ENCHANTRESS. 

A gentle zephyr lightly touched my face, 
'Twas morn, I lay just freed from sleep's em- 
brace ; 
She slipped in through my open casement wide, 
Half shy as if, abashed she fain would hide; 
Her touch was sweet with breath of dewy fields, 
With fragrant odors which the wild rose yields : 
I knew she late had passed through flower- 
strewn lanes, 
Washed and refreshed with gentle summer rains, 
Or loitered in some perfumed garden close 
Where spice-pinks bloom and sweet allysum 

grows. 
She beckoned winsomely — who could resist ? 
No couch could longer hold. Through tender 

mist 
I sought the blushing day — so fair she shone ; 
With admiration deep I gazed upon 
Her radiant charms, enwrapped in fold on fold 
Of filmy lace shot through with shafts of gold. 
As if to hide with modesty and grace, 
The loveliness and beauty of her face. 
The purple heights, sun-crowned, like guards- 
men rare. 
Towered silent, grand to shield this creature 

fair; 
While at their feet a silver ribbon gleamed. 
And shimmered as the sun upon it beamed. 
The birds had sung their joyful serenade. 
Their tribute to the smiling morning paid ; 
While chorused from adoring, tuneful throats, 
A thousand voices praised in amorous notes. 
My throbbing heart responsive thrilled with joy. 
Here found enchantment pure without alloy. 



58 



GOD IN NATURE. 

I know a woodland path where flows a stream 

Of sparkling water singing on its way ; 

A flower-strewn field where sunbeams dance and 

play ; 
A shaded nook where feathered songsters teem, 
Where love's young devotees may blissful dream, 
In tune with these sweet minstrels of the May ; 
Or grief-worn, burdened hearts may restful stay, 
So soothing nature's gentle voices seem. 

From nature up to nature's God I look ; 

I read His skill and power infinite ; 

His tender love in bounteous gifts bestowed ; 

It glows in every fragrant, flowery nook. 

Rings out in song from birds that gayly flit ; 

Revealed His love throughout man's fair abode. 



59 



OCTOBER. 

Not May with bursting buds and singing birds, 
Nor charming June with lover's ardent words, 
Outrivals fair October's peaceful days ; 
Serene and gracious she in all her ways. 

'Tis then dame Nature dons her gayest dress, 
In lavish beauty doth her joy express. 
She wields her artist brush with master hand. 
Forthwith the landscape glows at her command. 

In fervid tints of crimson, gold and green. 
She paints the canvas for her harvest scene. 
Fulfillment is a gift October brings. 
Of luscious fruit and ripe she blithely sings; 

Of bending boughs, of overflowing bins ; 

Her song of glad abundance now begins. 

In yellow shock the corn stands on the slopes. 

The purple grape fulfills the vine's fond hopes. 

For festival and feast it is a time. 
Fruition's joy — the year has reached the climb. 
Achievement claims a sweet content, her due, 
October smiles accomplishment to view. 

The trees then clap their hands, the mountains 

sing, 
The little hills rejoice their praises ring; , 
The valleys shout for joy, God crowns the year. 
Now doth His royal bounty most appear. 



60 



LIFE'S COMMON GIFTS. 

So many gifts we freely take, 
Nor stop to thank the Giver; 
As ceaseless as the tide they flow, 
As quiet as the river : 

The sunlight, bringing warmth and cheer. 

Our daily life to bless : 

The beauty of the sea and land, 

In ever changing dress : 

The winter's flashing gems of ice. 
The tender green of spring, 
The summer's wealth of fragrant bloom. 
Tints autumn glories bring : 

The color of the western sky, 
As day fades into night, 
The gleaming of the firmament. 
With myriad worlds of light: 

All these reveal the Father's love, 
And shall we praise Him not. 
But take his gifts so manifold. 
While thanks are oft forgot? 

Should no fair landscape greet our eyes. 
No purple, misty height. 
No glowing skies, no moonbeams fair. 
That beautify the night — 

What loss of nature's charm and grace, 
From sordid life to lift ! 
O thank the Giver for his gifts. 
Nor to an ingrate drift. 
6X 



COMPANIONSHIP. 

I've wondered as I've seen a tree alone 

Out in a field if trees feel loneliness, 

Or realize a sense of f riendlessness ? 

When vagrant, playful winds in harp-like tone. 

Flit through its topsmost boughs or pensive 

moan, 
Would not companionship it glad possess? 
Glad know the swaying, leaning, soft caress 
Of other trees near by and friendly grown? 
The angry blast and gales that fiercely blow, 
The tempest wild that beats its outstretched 

arms, 
Would-they not craving cause for forest home? 
Why should not trees a comrade love and know. 
And in sweet whispers sing their vesper psalms 
As one beneath God's vast cathedral dome? 



62 



FROST FAIRIES. 

They come in the night when all is still, 

They scatter the hoar frost o'er the vale and hill 

And in the dawn's returning light, 

Our eyes behold a wondrous sight. 

The trees are clothed in robes of lace. 
In pattern of exquisite grace, 
In purest white of rare design ; 
Such dainty weaving seems divine. 

Fit only for ethereal dress, 
Celestial courts of loveliness ; 
Almost we see an angel- face. 
Gleam bright among the folds of lace. 

From out the east a rosy hue, 
Upreaches to the vaulted blue, 
The mingling colors through the trees, 
Seem threads of brilliant tapestries. 

A hint of pearly gates we see. 
It leaves a holy memory; 
A vision beautiful and rare. 
Suggesting heaven passing fair. 



63 



TWO TRAVELERS TO THE SOUTH 
LAND. 

February 191 4. 



Two floating icebergs left their home, 
To seek a warmer clime, 

Quite surfeited with Arctic gales, 
With winter's frost and rime. 



They traveled gleefully along, 

In blissful hope content, 
Their thoughts beyond the frozen north, 

On warmer ways intent. 

With visions fair of summer skies. 
Of zephyrs soft and warm. 

Of singing birds, of blooming flowers. 
Afar from cold and storm. 



Alas for hopes and plans of men, 

Alas for icebergs, too, 
Where e'er they placed their frigid feet, 

It cold and colder grew. 

The sunny skies were turned to grey ; 

In limp, dejected row, 
The flowers hung their frozen heads, 

Or peeped from banks of snow. 

The winds grew cold and fiercely roared. 

They drifted high the snow ; 
With mad delight they seized upon. 

And tossed it to and fro. 
64 



At length quite wearied with their quest, 
These wanderers thought of home ; 

Convinced they caused the weather, bleak, 
They would no longer roam. 

And so these bergs from out the north , 
With grim, discouraged air. 

Retraced their steps back home again, 
A colder, wiser pair. 



65 



THE YEAR IS GROWING OLD. 

Again the year is growing old, 

Its color fading into grey, 

And soon will whitening snows lie cold, 

Where late the golden sunshine lay. 

Its ardent heat and fervor wane. 
Ice fettered are its streams and slow, 
The life-sap sluggish grows mid vein. 
No hint is seen of spring-time's glow. 

Say not 'tis death — it is not so — 

God is above, below, beyond. 

And soon his warm south winds will blov 

His call and life doth quick respond. 



66 



THE ROBIN'S SONG OF TRUST. 

Fast flying snowflakes chilled the air, 
Brave robin trilled his song of cheer, 
Sharp winds had swept the brown hills bare, 
His music held no note of fear. 

O robin, optomistic bird. 
Your gladsome faith rebukes my own ; 
Your song of trust my heart has stirred. 
Your courage told in gleeful tone. 

A cheerful trust each day renewed 
Increases strength for life's hard tasks ; 
Brings hope a rainbow brightly hued, 
A faith no doubting question asks. 



67 



THE POSTMAN. 

The postman on his daily rounds, 
Prescribed by governmental bounds, 
A messenger of joys and woes, 
Unconsicous on his worn route goes. 

Nor can he know what's in his pack. 
Perchance a billet-doux from Jack, 
Or else a legacy of gold, 
His leathern pouch may safe enfold. 

Momentous words men often write 
On just a bit of paper white ; 
Congratulations warm and glad. 
Condolences for those who're sad ; 

A call to joyous marriage feast. 
The last sad rites of friend deceast. 
What varied goods the postman bears, 
As on his daily course he fares. 



68 



WRITTEN FOR A CHATAUQUA CLASS 
REUNION. 

Tis pleasant thus old friends to meet, 
Our old Chautauqua class to greet. 

Though twenty years have passed away, 
They seem like dreams of yesterday ; 

Save whitening hair and paling cheek. 
In vain for signs of age we seek ; 

For he is young whose mind and heart 
Are active in some noble part. 

Anew our loyalty we pledge 

To old Chautauqua, entering wedge 

To lead us through an open door. 
That widens ever more and more. 

So here's for Alma Mater, dear, 
A heart-felt and a ringing cheer, 

A cheer for friendships old renewed. 
For days of auld lang syne reviewed. 



69 



LINES WRITTEN TO A FRIEND. 

We're glad your pathway crossed our own 
And we your friendship true have known. 
When God his choicest blessing sends, 
He wraps them in the form of friends. 



10 



A DREAM. 

I slept — an unseen presence placed a kiss upon 
my lips, 

As sweet as nectar from the dewy rose the morn- 
ing sips ; 

I woke with sense of being loved, content to feel 
it so. 

No form I saw yet heavenly visitant came near, 
I know. 

Was it some dear and loving one now passed be- 
yond earth's night? 

Returned to bless, to comfort, cheer from realms 
supernal, bright? 

They are not far, our blessed dead, their love can 
never die. 

In holy thought and loving care we feel their 
presence nigh. 

O blessed truth, they still are ours, though dim 
is mortal sight ! 

And when the mists of earth are cleared we'll 
see with purer light. 



71 



I LONG TO KNOW 

I long to know just where in space, 

The many mansions be ; 
I long to look behind the veil, 

The house eternal see. 

I think 'twould calm my storm swept soul, 

Its pain and doubt control, 
If I could for one moment see 

The soul's celestial goal. 

Could I but see my precious boy 

Mid scenes of heavenly bliss, 
And hear his old-time cheery voice 

That now we sadly miss, 

Could I behold some blessed day, 

My darling gloritied, 
And see the radiance from within 

The gates swung open wide, 

Could I but hear him say "I'm glad. 

Earth's sorrows all forgot," 
I think 'twould help me bear my loss^- 
This pain of mortal lot ; 

I think 'twould dry the falling tear, 

The bitter memory fade. 
Could I but see his heavenly home, 

That Christ, his Lord hath made. 

Could I have just a glance within. 

His home so wondrous fair, 
And hear the gladness in his voice, 

Content I'd leave him there, 

72 



And wait until I too might gain 
Such bUss by God's good grace, 

And then my precious boy to meet, 
Behold him face to face. 

But faith, the lens through which we look 
Shows us that home so bright, 

We have God's word — we trust his love, 
Till faith shall change to sight. 



73 



RESURRECTION. 

I see the flash of angel wings, 
I hear the glad refrain, 
"The Lord is risen, He's not here, 
Come, see where he has lain." 

Down through the years in echoes sweet. 
This message floats along. 
While hallelujahs joyous, glad, 
Reverberate in song. 

The Lord is risen as He said ; 
He is the King of Kings ; 
The Lord of life : glad hope for us, 
Pilgrims of earth. He brings. 

O sorrowing one look through your tears, 

Behold the empty tomb, 

Victor o'er death, the risen Lord 

Has robbed it of its gloom. 

Our blessed dead it cannot claim ; 
Through faith in him complete, 
They live, and when this earth recedes, 
In mansions fair we'll meet. 



74 



QUESTIONS 

You ask do I believe in this, 

Some doctrine, dogma, Churchly creed ? 

Is there a punitive abyss? 

A Tempter v^ho doth treason breed ? 

You ask is God omnipotent ? 
And does He ever reign supreme ? 
The ills of life by w^hom are sent ? 
Is Hfe eternal but a dream ? 

I am not learned — mine the loss, 
And much there is I fain v^ould know ; 
But Jesus Christ upon the cross 
The love of God for man doth show. 

His resurrection from the grave 
Denotes a power beyond man's ken : 
Both love and power the world He gave, 
A ransom for the souls of men. 

And so my troubled soul I rest, 
While faith resumes her mighty task : 
My father's love I trust — 'tis best, 
Nor doubt's disturbing questions ask. 



75 



A LOAN. 

God gave to me my life, a trust, 
To hold and for Him use ; 
To give Him back His own, I must. 
Nor can I plead excuse. 

Return it would I pure and white. 
Not stained and marred by sin. 
But rather battle-scarred in fight. 
The cause of right to win. 

Whatever God entrusts to me. 
In wealth of mind or heart or gold. 
That would I use at his decree, 
Nor talent small in napkin fold. 

I would my ear should be in tune, 
Responsively to human need, 
If small perforce the answering boon. 
Yet love doth weighty make the deed. 

An when my summons comes to give 
Account of stewardship on earth. 
May some forgotten deeds yet live. 
Recorded large in heavenly worth. 



76 



GLAD TIDINGS . 

Luke II, II. 

Long years ago He came to earth, 

Jesus the Saviour : 
Angelic choirs proclaimed his birth, 

His bed a manger. 

A wondrous gift to sin-marred earth 

The babe so lowly, 
A gift of matchless, priceless worth. 

The child so holy. 

Still ring with joy the tidings glad. 

Within hearts loyal : 
Recieve Him, sinful ones and sad, 

The gift so royal. 

A kingly crown He wears and reigns 
Where hearts are willing ; 

A sovereign, yet man's heart He deigns 
To make his dwelhng. 



77 



HOW OFT WOULD I HAVE GATHERED 
THEE. 

Christ oe'r the city looks with pitying eye, 
With that age-long lament, pathetic cry, 
"How oft, yes oft, would I have gathered thee 
Would glad have drawn thee, restless, unto 

me, 
Have brooded thee with tender love, my own. 
But ye would not, thy heart like unto stone. 
How oft, yes oft, would I have gathered thee ; 
When tempted sore, my grief didst thou not see ? 
Hadst heard my pleading voice, its yearning 

deep, 
1 could have strengthened thee, from sin I keep ; 
O'erwhelmed in sin, hadst called, afraid to die, 
I could have rescued thee, for I was nigh; 
And when dark clouds of trouble o'er thee rolled, 
Almighty Arms were waiting to enfold ; 
How oft, yes oft, would I have gathered thee, 
And still I wait, thy Friend I long to be." 



78 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Within the heart enshrined they can never be 

forgot ; 
To-day we strew with flowers their quiet rest- 
ing spot, 
Our loved ones gone beyond our dim, earth 

blinded sight, 
Where age can never wither nor early frosts 

can blight ; 
Where in perennial growth in gardens passing 

fair. 
They breathe the pure sweet fragrance of God's 

upland air. 
We miss them from life's daily walk — the loss 

seems pain, 
But joy with them in thought of their eternal 

gain. 



79 



